Friction and Conflict

*Gah!* Under the crushing pressure, the ancient gold dragon tasted iron deep in his throat as blood gushed from his maw. His bones felt on the verge of splintering entirely. Straining with all his might, he barely managed to lift his head, his voice rasping. "You misunderstand... As your ally, I was only concerned for you and wished to see the extent of your wounds..." "Check my wounds?" Cassius pulled back his lips to reveal bloodstained fangs, letting out a cold sneer. "Does checking my wounds require you to mask your presence? Does it require you to drape yourself in divine magic? Do you take me for an idiot like a white dragon?" Spitting flecks of blood, Dionysus stared directly into the red dragon emperor's eyes and forced a wretched smile. "Your Majesty Cassius, pardon my bluntness, but you cannot control such vile divinity. You already possess such staggering might—why must you still covet the power of a deity? "Once Tiamat's divine essence warps your mind, that power will very likely destroy you, perhaps even wreaking catastrophic havoc upon the Material Plane. Please believe me... the great Lord of the North Wind is far better suited to safeguard this severed horn. If you permit me to carry it back to his divine realm..." Cassius took a step forward and brought his foot down heavily upon the ancient gold dragon's shoulder. Fury gave way to a contemptuous laugh. "Ambushing an ally and seizing the spoils of war—is this what you call being an ally? It seems I truly overestimated the integrity of metallic dragons!" *Crack!* "Aaargh!" Along with the crisp snap of breaking bone, the ancient gold dragon let out a mournful wail. His shoulder blade shattered instantly, the joint mashed into mangled flesh as hot draconic blood sprayed from between the cracked scales. "Mercy!" "Your Majesty Cassius, we beg you to spare Dionysus's life! His crime does not warrant death!" The metallic dragons flapped their wings in disarray, crying out in alarm, yet none dared draw near for fear of provoking the red dragon emperor's wrath. Meanwhile, high-ranking imperial figures such as Misha and Duoluo glared at the metallic dragons with open hostility, roaring in fury: "How dare you attempt to ambush His Majesty! Where did you find the gall?" "Metallic dragons, is this how you repay the savior of your lives? If not for His Majesty Cassius, every last one of you would have died here!" "They are enemies!" In an instant, millions of imperial soldiers halted in their tracks. Countless dark cannon muzzles and rifle barrels swung to bear on the metallic dragons, every soldier's eyes ablaze with rage. Though conscious that they had no moral ground to stand on, the metallic dragons nonetheless let out threatening growls to shield themselves from the imminent storm of gunfire and artillery. Dionysus rasped in a low voice, "Your Majesty Cassius, I am an envoy of Lord Bahamut. You cannot—" *Rrrrip—* A sickening tear resounded through the sky. With a savage wrench of the red dragon emperor's limbs, the ancient gold dragon's wing was ripped clean away, flesh and sinew shredded in a violent spray of gore. Dionysus let out a piercing howl of agony before blacking out entirely under the sheer shock of the pain. Blood welled steadily from the hideous rupture, pooling into a small lake on the ground. Even for an ancient gold dragon versed in powerful spells, an injury of this scale would take at least several centuries to heal, and his wing would never regain its former grace. Cassius cast a dismissive glance over the fallen drake and paid him no further heed, offering only a chilling warning: "I should have killed him, but in light of Lord Bahamut's timely aid moments ago, I spare his life. Yet his shameless treachery is more than enough to ignite a war between the Empire and the metallic dragon race!" "Count yourselves fortunate that you averted a war!" The red dragon emperor beat his immense wings and surged into the sky, kicking up fierce gusts of yellow sand. "Metallic dragons, take this as a warning. Do not meddle, and do not stand in the way of the Empire's advance. Otherwise—no matter who it is, even if Bahamut descends in person—you will only be crushed beneath the relentless wheels of history." His deep, booming voice reverberated through the upper air, shaking the souls of all who heard it and striking pure terror into the gold, silver, and brass dragons below. "Is he... is the Cinder Emperor threatening the entire metallic dragon race?" "Lord Dionysus!" "Quick, tend to his wounds!" As the red dragon soared into the firmament, the metallic dragons swarmed forward, unleashing a flurry of restorative spells. With a deafening sonic boom, the red dragon emperor tore through the fabric of space, slowly vanishing from the sky beneath countless gazes of awe, fear, and reverence. "Long live the Empire!" "Long live the Cinder Emperor!" The imperial soldiers raised their firearms and shouted at the top of their lungs, their unified cries ringing to the clouds and shaking the heavens. With Gorazdla's death, the thunderclouds blanketing the sky dissipated with astonishing speed. Brilliant shafts of sunlight pierced through the parting haze, bathing the scorched, scarred land below in a glow that carried the profound weight of rebirth through fire. Seeing daylight once more, the Seleucian soldiers wept with joy—especially those native to the Taliro region, who could not remember how long it had been since they last saw the unobstructed sun. At this moment, even as faithful devotees of Amaunator, they could not resist murmuring along, "Praise... praise His Majesty Cassius." Gazing up at the towering silhouette that seemed to linger in the sky, quiet seeds were planted in their hearts—a spark of hope brought forth from the depths of despair. *** Meanwhile, along the brink of the Locke Great Rift, countless evil dragon spawn and cultists were crowded together, either tumbling into the abyss or being carved up, surrounded, and eradicated by the allied soldiers. Over just a few days, more than a million evil dragon spawn and several million Cult of the Dragon followers were slaughtered. As the imperial soldiers joked, butchering a million pigs would have taken considerably longer. Thus, the world-shaking Battle of Locke Great Rift came to an end, culminating in a resounding allied triumph and the total destruction of the Blue Dragon Sect. Following the conclusion of this momentous conflict, the auxiliary forces from Serenia, the Kingdom of Cassander, and elsewhere took their leave one after another. The metallic dragons, having nearly triggered an entirely new war in the final hour, carried their severely wounded leader away in crestfallen silence. With the bulk of their forces composed of imperial and native Seleucian soldiers, the allied army crossed the Locke Great Rift with ease. Dividing into three columns, they advanced across the Great Taliro Desert from the north, center, and south to reclaim the territories seized by the Blue Dragon Sect. Advancing with crushing momentum, they wiped out countless evil dragon spawn along the way and razed dozens of temples in succession. During this sweep, Dennis Drummond, a bishop of the Blue Dragon Sect, attempted a desperate last stand with his remnant forces, laying an ambush for the allied army at one of the temples. However, the imperial troops discovered the trap in advance. Consequently, the temple became a testing ground: tens of thousands of tons of ordnance detonated above it, reducing the entire holy site to rubble and leaving behind only charred ruins and countless buried corpses. By this point, two of the Cult of the Dragon's three major sects had been extinguished; only the Red Dragon Sect in the south remained in the world. The Red Dragon Sect held the Sunset Plains, the richest and most prosperous region in Seleucia. They commanded the largest territory and the most formidable armies among the three factions, and had even brought the former King of Seleucia under their thumb, reducing this dragon-headed, human-bodied godblood into a puppet of Tiamat. Moreover, the "god" of the Red Dragon Sect, Kazul the Lord of Lava, was the most powerful among Tiamat's three chosen vessels. Beating within his chest was no ordinary dragon heart, but Tiamat's own immortal heart! Yet even now, declaring the Blue Dragon Sect utterly eradicated was slightly premature. Beyond Dennis Drummond, the Blue Dragon Sect still possessed Quincy Vera, one of the original bluespawn godslayers, who continued to mount a stubborn resistance against the allied advance. Gathering stragglers and routed forces from the cult, he had fled southward across the vast Great Taliro Desert until reaching the southernmost Wind-Sand Ravines. This expanse was filled with jagged, monstrous crags formed from piled sandstone, which shaped long, narrow corridors. Every second of every day, howling gales carrying choking yellow sand whistled through the crevices between the bizarre stones, often carrying eerie wails from the depths like the cries of savage beasts. To humans, this place was undeniably a sandy inferno, but to bluespawn born and raised beneath the sands, it was a sanctuary where they could hide and survive. Even so, the environment was punishing and resources were extraordinarily scarce. The bluespawn could only sustain themselves on the corpses of their fallen comrades, resorting to cannibalism and tearing one another apart to preserve their own lives. Now, tens of thousands of bluespawn were gathered here. The old, the weak, and the crippled among them had already been devoured entirely; those who remained were ravenous, vicious brutes. Their eyes gleamed with a ghastly light. Due to their dire energy shortages, they no longer expended lightning recklessly, lurking silently in the depths of the ravines as they awaited the arrival of their enemies. "We have not been defeated! The great Mother Goddess, Queen of All Scales, Chromatic Dragon Queen Tiamat is still watching over us!" "Our defeat in the north was solely because a shameless traitor stole our Mother's power! Now that arrogant red dragon has scurried back to his own territory, leaving only those frail, insignificant humans for us to face!" "Brothers and sisters, let them witness the true might of Tiamat's spawn!" Perched atop a towering sandstone pillar, Quincy Vera was cloaked in garments sewn from more than a dozen cured human skins. He raised the bone greatsword in his claws high, drawing forth rolling banks of dark clouds. *Rumble!* A long-absent bolt of lightning crashed down onto his bone blade. The intense current surged through his body, filling him with an indescribable, intoxicating rush. "Roaaar!" The bluespawn raised their heads in unison, unleashing raspy roars that crackled like detonating thunder, their hideous visages twisted with fanaticism. In the Great Taliro Desert of old, they had been the undisputed apex predators and rulers. Now, at least within these Wind-Sand Ravines, they could still cling to their dominion—even if nothing else remained alive within the ravines besides themselves. Yet right at that moment, piercing shrieks tore through the distance. Streaks trailing fire and dense smoke whipped across the horizon, diving at blinding speed toward the Wind-Sand Ravines. The white vapor trails they left behind resembled the withered, skeletal hands of Death slowly reaching down. The bluespawn looked up in bewilderment, oblivious to what was about to unfold. But Quincy Vera was a survivor of the Locke Great Rift; he knew all too well what those dark silhouettes ripping across the sky portended, having been left with deep psychological scars from the encounter. "Get down—!" The bluespawn godslayer's eyes widened in horror. Straining his cavernous maw to its absolute limit, he let out a bloodcurdling roar and threw himself flat onto the ground as if by reflex. However, it was already too late. Furthermore, this strike had been meticulously planned. Even if the bluespawn had burrowed into the earth, it would have availed them nothing—these were the Empire's newly developed mana-driven cruise missiles, capable of pinpoint precision against individual targets. The missiles in this bombardment originated from the Thrace Launch Center thousands of kilometers away. Among them, three had been locked specifically onto the renowned bluespawn godslayer, Quincy Vera. *Boom! Boom! Boom!* Accompanied by a relentless series of earth-shattering detonations, the dark silhouettes rained down into the ravines, triggering horrific explosions as columns of fire and black smoke surged into the sky. The earth trembled violently. The jagged, bizarre rocks of the Wind-Sand Ravines shattered and collapsed in the blasts, pouring down like a torrential avalanche that buried countless bluespawn beneath tons of rubble. "Curse you imperial dogs!" Quincy roared. The massive, burly bluespawn godslayer raised his dragon-skull shield with all his strength, fending off the blistering flames and the cascading debris. Arcs of lightning danced across his hide—the unmistakable sign of a bluespawn godslayer exerting his full power. Yet moments later, three precision-guided missiles plummeted screaming toward Quincy, their velocity far too great for the naked eye to track. *Boom!* A colossal detonation split the air. The warheads, carrying horrific kinetic energy, instantly punched clean through the dragon-skull shield and slammed into the bluespawn godslayer's defenseless body. In an instant, his scales shattered under the immense concussive force, spraying out as countless glittering fragments. A mist of blood erupted as his ultra-dense flesh was blasted apart into hundreds of blackened, crimson chunks, and even his reinforced bones were pulverized into splinters. A rain of blood, gore, and bone fragments showered down from the sky. The final bluespawn godslayer, the last lingering hope of the Blue Dragon Sect, perished just like that, his remains painted evenly across the shattered stones. Once the bombardment subsided, the Wind-Sand Ravines were left a ruined wasteland of rubble. Bluespawn corpses littered the ground, leaving only a fortunate few clinging to life beneath the debris, emitting faint, shuddering groans. *** Five kilometers away, several imperial military researchers in camouflage fatigues peered through optical binoculars, carefully surveying the distant devastation while scribbling rapidly in their notepads. One of them nodded in satisfaction: "Not bad. Following this field test, the margin of error for the guided missiles is under nine meters, while the magical tracking missiles achieved zero margin of error. We still need to verify their resistance against anti-magic fields, however." "Mm. It appears this batch of new missiles is ready for full-scale deployment." With bitter irony, what the Blue Dragon Sect had seen as their final opportunity and their hope for a counteroffensive was, in the eyes of the Empire's researchers, nothing more than a trivial weapons test—one where they even grumbled that the sample size had been too small.